by Julia Keaton
He waited. Just as the pain mellowed into a spreading warmth, he tugged at her nipple again, began to suck it. A faint groan escaped her as she felt herself descending again into the madness, the heat engulfing her so quickly that she was thrashing restlessly against him in moments. Desperation took hold of her. Not the need for him to stop, but the need to feel his mouth on the nipple he had so assiduously ignored until it throbbed ceaselessly, almost painfully.
She began to think she would lose her mind as the tugging continued, draining her of her will, of her strength, of awareness of everything except his mouth and the coiling, miserable tension in her body that began to demand surcease.
She felt like weeping when he stopped again, because he had stopped.
“Where is it?”
Her mind snagged on the question at once, but she was too caught up in the screaming demands of her body to think of anything beyond that. She licked her dried lips, trying to think of what to say that might put an end to the torment. “Please,” she whispered, wondering herself whether she was begging him to stop or torment her more because she had begun to crave it, the heat of his mouth, and the faintly rough stroke of his tongue. Her entire body felt like it was on fire, and she knew instinctively that what it was burning for was his touch, not the absence of it.
This time when he leaned close, she felt the heat of his breath on the nipple he had neglected. She held her breath, hoping he would take it into his mouth, fearful he wouldn’t.
He nipped at it, gently, but her nipple was so painfully swollen with need it took no more to send a mixture of pleasure and pain stabbing through her like a knife. She uttered a choked cry before she could stop it. “Where is it?”
Melantha was ready to beg him to suckle it as he had the other sensitive tip, to say anything to get him torture her more with excruciating pleasure. Before she could moisten her dry mouth to speak, however, a loud clatter invaded the room, the sound of someone slamming bodily into the floor at the head of the stairs.
Melantha jerked all over.
Her torment’s head snapped up. She felt the movement, felt the sudden tension all around her. He moved away from her as they heard the sound of someone stumbling over the body on the floor, or perhaps scuffling with him. She felt the ties around first one ankle and then the other vanished as he whipped them off.
“It appears we may have company, for if I am not mistaken your brother’s guests have decided to retire and I would just as soon not linger in case they mistake your room for their own.”
Melantha dragged her legs up as she was released, curling them close to her body, lifting her head and staring hard into the darkness as she heard his footsteps retreat across the room. “You can’t leave me like this!” she hissed, fearful that whoever was outside the door would hear her.
She caught a glimpse of a shadowy figure at her window briefly as he thrust the drapes aside.
“Alas I must, but don’t despair. I will be back. You can count on it.”
Too stunned to discover that she was being abandoned with her wrists still bound to the posts to think beyond that and the threat of being discovered, Melantha began jerking and twisting against her bindings, alternately rotating and twisting at her wrists. Abruptly, one came free and dropped limply to the bed. Sharp pinpricks of pain shot through her arm and it took an effort to roll onto her side and pick at the other binding with her swollen, nearly useless fingers.
She discovered then that she was not tied at all. Something soft had been twisted around her wrists and then tied to the bedpost.
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Jocelyn was proud of herself. She’d prepped her sister for her absence on the morrow after she’d packed her things and was even now hurrying across the darkened yard towards the inn’s stables. As she’d explained her intentions, Ava had looked at her a bit skeptically, as if she doubted such a thing would work. Though the lack of confidence stung it didn’t sway her. And after an unwarranted amount of begging and pleading, Ava had agreed to hide Jocelyn’s absence for as long as she was able to once morning came. That was half of the mission completed right there.
So it was with a light heart that she skipped into the stables, fully expecting her ‘guardian’ to be fast asleep after traveling so hard. She had reigned and mounted a sleepy Jet before that assumption was destroyed.
Blocking the stable’s only exit was a man. Since the lights from the inn were at his back his face was thrown into shadow, but for some reason the set of his shoulders, the careless swagger of his step set off warning bells in her mind.
“Mr. Burleigh?’ She asked, her voice higher than she’d intended. She tried again. “Why, Mr. Burleigh. What a surprise. Whatever are you doing out so late? Shouldn’t you be in bed?”
He was silent and his lack of response coupled with the fact that she couldn’t read his face sent a bolt of alarm through her body. He was angry, she sensed that much at least. But there was something else, something heady and drugging that she hadn’t felt since the night he’d found her in the hall. Just the memory of it had her pulse spiking and a strange heat pooling between her legs. The pit of her stomach tingled with warning. She didn’t understand. Not the confusion he made her feel, nor why he could make her feel that way when none other had.
But it was there.
“I couldn’t sleep.” His voice was sardonic. “So I decided to take Bella down to the docks and see if I could secure passage on one of the ships.”
She cleared her throat and straightened in her sidle, trying, unsuccessfully to hide her bags with her skirts.
“And were you successful?”
“We set sail on the Gentle Marie tomorrow at dawn.”
She smiled as if the news pleased her while her heart beat frantically in her chest.
“Jocelyn.” Her name came out on a whisper, a hissed warning in the darkness and Jocelyn’s stomach twisted. “You care to explain to me why you’re out so late, Princess?”
Jocelyn tried to hide her shaking hands but knew it was futile. She’d never been a good liar and the effort it took not to simply break down in tears and confess made her voice wobble in a way that wasn’t terribly convincing.
“The moon. Yes, the moon. I’ve always wanted to watch the moonlight on the ocean waves. I hear it’s beautiful, and since we’ll be leaving tomorrow it’ll be my last chance to ride for a while.”
Jocelyn looked at Damon and Damon looked at Jocelyn, and though she couldn’t tell it in the darkness, his eyes narrowed to dangerous slits when he caught sight of her bags.
Instantly angry, probably more so than he had a right to be, or would have been had he been in his right mind to begin with, Damon reached out and grabbed Jocelyn around one slim ankle.
She may not have been able to see him, but he sure as hell could see her and the sight of her flushing face as his flesh met hers satisfied the petty little monster riding his back. If his very presence couldn’t cause her sleepless nights, then at least his touch could rattle her.
It wasn’t much. But for now it was enough.
“You’re going for a ride?” he asked, if only to confirm the blatant lie.
“Yes.”
“In the dark?”
“Ye-yes.” Her chin came up now, stubborn, and her eyes flashed a challenge at him.
“With all of your things?” His voice was careful, but even he could hear the ice beneath the words. Guilty, Jocelyn looked over her shoulder at her bags and cursed. By this time Damon had had more than enough and using his grip on her ankle, he tugged her forward until he could capture her waist with the other.
For one heart stopping, gut clenching moment as he pulled her from the horse and slid down his body, he was cradled between her legs. He could feel her breasts, plump mounds of heat that seared his flesh and his breath caught as her nipples peaked through the material of her gown as they slipped past his face. She wasn�
�t wearing the trapping a woman of her station usually wore beneath her clothes and Damon could only surmise that it had to do with her haste to escape.
His grip on her ankle became soft, a tool to caress rather than to trap and punish and he let his fingers run over her bare ankle to her calf. Over that smooth roundness to the dangers of her outer thigh, the touch of which sent her body into a delicate trembling that had he not been pressed so closely to her, he never would have noticed. By this time she’d slid far enough that her breasts were crushed against his chest and her mouth was on level with his own and when he could drag his gaze from the plumpness of her lower lip he fell into those eyes….
And right there with the smell of the stable and the whinnying of the horses fading in his awareness and her dress hiked up over his wrist and her nipples burning against his body like brands, he tightened the hold he had on her thigh, and pressing her back against the solid strength of her horse, he kissed her. His lips were punishing, his tongue when it came to tease the dewy seam of her lips, almost cruel. He could feel a fire raging in him, a need so deep and strong it left him stunned as he plundered those delicate lips with his own. And then, in the relative peace of the stables, as his lips separated from hers in a brief instance to drag in air, a sound pierced the night. Her mouth had parted and her eyes were closed tight. Her body arching against him in silent plea, he was sure she didn’t understand. She let forth a broken, needy whimper from somewhere deep in her throat. A sound that he wanted nothing more than to swallow on his tongue until she produced another and yet another.
The knowledge brought him up short and with her panting in his arms, her thigh, where his fingers anchored her, now slick with a fine coat of sweat and twin flags of color riding high on her cheeks, he looked down at her and tightened his jaw.
She was too young, she was too rich, and she was John’s daughter.
Repeat them again when his treacherous fingers slid just a centimeter higher and pull her tight, bringing her flush against the hard ridge at the front of his britches so that her head fell back on a moan.
Too young.
Repeat it again when his eyes traced the path of a drop of perspiration as it danced down her throat to disappear in the bodice of her gown.
Too rich.
These words ricochet in his head and are easily ignored when he found himself leaning forward, hungry once more for the taste of those lips.
John’s daughter.
This is Jocelyn.
And that, God help him, is what had him dropping that damnable leg and pushing himself away from her as if she had the plague.
He felt cold where her body had been, empty, and ragingly, achingly hard.
Her absence, he noted, was beginning to leave a hole. And not just any hole, but one with her name permanently engraved on it. Or at least that was the direction he was afraid things were going if they hadn’t gotten there already.
He needed to get control of himself and fast.
Looking up, he met Jocelyn’s gaze and barely managed not to flinch at the open vulnerability he found there.
John’s daughter.
The words were enough to force the rest of his hunger back when the other two reasons had failed to do so.
“Da--” She caught herself. “Mr. Burleigh?”
He’d wanted her to say his name. And because he’d wanted it, still wanted it, his voice went cold and his body coiled tight.
“Get out.”
“But--”
“Go back to your room.”
“Mr. Burleigh!”
“NOW!”
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY